


Christmas, 2013

by fraternite



Series: Feuilly/happiness [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Found Families, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 12:50:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2851367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraternite/pseuds/fraternite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things are very different for Feuilly than they were last year around this time.</p><p>Or, What Happens After "Carry On"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas, 2013

**Author's Note:**

> Putting this fic in a series with the Thanksgiving one is perhaps a little bit misleading--because that fic is what I wish happened but in fact did not happen. This is not the same thing at all--this is what actually DID happen after the end of Carry On.

_December 20, 2013_

It was the last working day before Christmas, and so of course Feuilly had twice as much on his schedule as he could possibly do in the next nine hours--a meeting with a school district, making the rounds at local temp agencies for leads on jobs, going to look at an apartment for the family scheduled to arrive January 2, writing up his section for the newsletter that was _supposed_ to have gone out a week ago, and somewhere among all that, about two hours of government paperwork. He hurried down the stairs from his apartment, trying to put on his gloves while juggling a lunch bag and a coffee mug and a phone, and almost tripped over the old doormat, which had gotten all bunched up again. Stopping to uncurl it, he noticed that his mailbox was crammed full; he'd forgotten to collect the mail the past two evenings. He was going to pass it by--all circulars urging people to take advantage of Christmas sales and specials, to get that special thing that would prove they were the best party host or that would make their loved one iridescently happy or that would bring the peace of Christmas, buy _now_ before it's _too late_ \--but a red envelope with a hand-written address caught his eye. He stopped and pulled it out of the box, clamping his coffee and lunch under his arm. The return address read:

The Wilsons  
42 Apple Ct.  
Brightwater, MD, 55555

A smile cracked Feuilly's face--but before he could open the letter, his phone buzzed with an alert reminding him that his first meeting was in ten minutes. Regretfully, he stuck the letter back in the box; it would be something to look forward to at the end of a very long day.

  


* * *

  


Hours later, Feuilly returned home, feet aching, head aching, but happy. The school district meeting had gone well and he'd been able to straighten out some misunderstandings about the backgrounds of the Burmese students who were coming to the district in droves; the apartment had been a hellhole, but he still had a couple of weeks to find something so it wasn't a crisis yet; and he'd gotten his section for the resettlement agency newsletter in _two minutes_ before by the intern's absolute drop-dead deadline of 1:00. He'd even made it through most of his paperwork. All in all, it'd been a good day.

And now he had a letter. He made himself wait, savoring the anticipation a little longer, until he'd put his things away and changed out of his work clothes and stuck his leftovers in the oven to heat up. Then he made a cup of tea and sat down at the table with the red envelope.

Inside was a single sheet of paper, folded in thirds, with a blurry printed photo, slightly squashed, of a smiling family around a fire pit--Sandra, Dan, their biological children Nicolas and Julie, and two kids Feuilly didn't know--and a short letter.

 _Dear Family and Friends,_ it read:

_Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you all! 2013 has been a busy year for us, and we're excited to see what the next year will bring._

_As some of you may remember, this is our first letter in two years! Last December was a hectic time for us, between Sandra's surgery (relatively minor and everything is fine now) and the competitive promotion process at Dan's work (he didn't get it, but we have our fingers crossed for next time). We're sorry for our absence from your mailboxes last year--fortunately, this December we have a little more of a chance to breathe and to update you on what's new in our family._

_We were excited to welcome a new addition to our home this April, when Aleisha came to fill our house with singing. Aleisha is ten years old and loves One Direction, and she has Julie (and Nicolas) dancing through the house belting out "You Don't Know You're Beautiful" at all hours (this Mama doesn't mind!). She got the chance to showcase her talents in a more public way this fall, when she played Alan a Dale, a major singing role, in her school's production of Robin Hood. We're looking forward to seeing her grow and shine even more in 2014._

_It's been a big year of growing and learning for our other kids as well. Nicolas (8, now; where does the time go?) finally passed Level 4 in Red Cross swimming school (fourth time's the charm) and already has his sights set on Level 5. Julie (12) still enjoys summer soccer and gymnastics, and she's looking forward to a new adventure come March--Mama finally said yes to horseback riding lessons. Nate (16) is a junior in high school; he said goodbye to baseball this spring with a fantastic last season and has moved on to musical pursuits, teaching himself to play bass and drums. A band is in the works, but the guys haven't settled on a name yet._

_As for Sandra and Dan, we keep plugging away at the remodeling project. The upstairs bathroom now has working plumbing again, and we hope to actually hang the door before Christmas guests arrive. We also had the chance to travel a bit this summer, taking a weekend trip up to Maine to do a bit of hiking and show the kids the town where Mama grew up. We stayed at a gorgeous little bed and breakfast, and we already have a room (just one, this time!) booked for next spring, when we'll celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary._

_We hope all of you are well, and we wish you all the best in 2014. May you meet with joy and peace everything the new year brings your way._

_Love,_

_Sandra, Dan, Nate, Julie, Aleisha, and Nicolas_

Underneath the typed letter, Sandra had added a handwritten note:

_We're thinking of you this Christmas and hoping you're doing well. We're so happy that you've made your own way in the world--but remember that you always have a place here._

_Love,_

_Sandra_

Feuilly smiled and carefully smoothed the creases out of the letter before hanging it on the refrigerator next to the other two cards he'd received that year (a cheerful New Year's greeting from Saahid and a glitter-bedecked monstrosity from Joly and Bossuet). It was funny, but it still felt strange getting Christmas cards, as if he didn't believe himself to be a _real_ adult even after several years living on his own.

But it was nice, too, to get cards. To be reminded every time he opened the refrigerator that he wasn't drifting through life untethered. That there were people who he had touched in some small way; he was a part of their lives and they were a part of his.

  


* * *

  


The next day was warm and melty, and Feuilly pulled out his fall jacket again to walk down to the drugstore for a few last-minute purchases. He needed a replacement gift for Courfeyrac's father, who, it turned out, had a nut allergy (since it had meant Feuilly had a box of chocolate walnut fudge to eat up during his last, stressful week of work, he couldn't bring himself to regret the error too much), and he wanted to pick up some snacks for the car ride, since Courfeyrac refused to let him chip in for gas. As he was waiting in line behind a woman with a basket heaped full of, inexplicably, St. Patrick's Day decor, Feuilly's eyes fell on a display of boxed Christmas cards. _Why not?_ he thought, and added a pack of cards with foxes on them to his basket.

Back at his apartment, he sat down at the table to make a list. People who he wanted to update on his life; people who he wanted to know he was thinking about them. People who had left a mark on his life, who he wanted to tell _Hey, I'm doing well now--and part of that is thanks to you._

The Wilsons were the first on the list. Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac were on it, too--all the people he'd met through the ABC Society were--along with his supervisor at the circ desk, his coworkers at the refugee resettlement office. An hour later, he had nineteen out of twenty of the envelopes addressed and about half the cards written, and his writing hand was cramping up, and Courfeyrac was coming to pick him up in an hour and a half and he hadn't even begun to pack. He put the cards back in the box to finish over Christmas.

  


* * *

  


"Fair warning," Courfeyrac said as they pulled out of Feuilly's parking lot. "My mom is hardly a stereotypical Korean mother, but one thing she has _down_ is feeding people. Especially skinny kids who don't have a mom. Brace yourself for a _lot_ of food."

"No, really," Enjolras said from the back seat where he was trying to rearrange the backpacks and sleeping bags and pillows and grocery bags full of gifts to more efficiently use the available space (and to be more comfortable to sleep on). "I think I gained five pounds the first year I spent Christmas with them. I'm not even exaggerating."

"Okay," Feuilly laughed. "Consider me warned."

"Now, we need some road trip tunes," Courfeyrac said. "Did you say you got some Christmas CDs from the library?"

"I did. Do you want Dean Martin or Ella Fitzgerald or . . . um . . ." He pulled his backpack out from under his legs and dug around in it. "--Or Manhattan Steamroller or Bing Crosby?"

"Ella Fitzgerald," Courfeyrac said at the same time as Enjolras said "Manhattan Steamroller."

"We have five hours, there'll be time for all of them."

But Enjolras ended up falling asleep before they even hit the thruway, curled up on the pile of luggage, and they turned the music down, and then off entirely and just talked for hours as the afternoon darkened around the car. Courfeyrac told some funny stories about his new coworker, a tiny woman named Musichetta, who was about four-foot-eleven, had the face of a cherub, and didn't take shit from _anyone_ \--and, as talking about work often did, it gradually turned into Courfeyrac blowing off steam about the frustrations of his job.

"Thanks," he said, in the pause that followed a long rant about the judge who was so swayed by Christmas spirit that he ended up sending kids back to unsafe homes every year around the holidays. "For letting me vent. I try not to complain too much at home, because my father worries, you know. But I know this isn't the most unstressful subject for you, either."

"It's okay," Feuilly said.

"You'll tell me if you want me to shut up?"

"Sure."

"I mean it," Courfeyrac insisted. "I can vent to somebody else if--well, if it bothers you."

"No, it really is okay," Feuilly told him. "It might not have been, I don't know, a year ago. Six months ago. But it doesn't stress me out or anything now."

"Okay," Courfeyrac said. "Well, like I said, thanks. It's good to get all the ranting out of my system before I get home. Because I don't get to spend much time with my family, and I try to be as positive as I can when I _am_ there."

"Thanks for . . . for sharing them with me--with us. I kind of feel bad, crashing your holiday."

"No, don't--seriously, you shouldn't! We're very much a more-the-merrier kind of family. Enjolras has been coming home with me for Christmas for years, and he's basically family now; we have this set of candle holders that goes in the windows, and one of them has his name on it. And they'll be just as happy to have you there."

"Well, I really appreciate it. I mean, Christmas was never a huge deal for me . . . but it's nice to have somewhere to go."

"Well, maybe it's selfish of me, but I'm really glad I get to bring you with me to Christmas. We have so many awesome traditions, and I love being able to share them with my friends. Speaking of . . . have you ever gone skating at Rockefeller Center?"

"No. I've never been to New York City at all."

"Oh my god, this is going to be the best!" Courfeyrac grinned. "It is _so_ cool there; you're going to love it. My mom has it planned for Monday. Um--I hope that's okay, I mean, you can skip out on it if you want, or on any of the things she has planned. I really wasn't kidding when I said she has a holiday break schedule."

  


* * *

  


The promised schedule was indeed very busy. Between church services and caroling and ice skating, Feuilly didn't have a chance to even think about the cards until late in the afternoon on Christmas Eve. Courfeyrac's mother and two sisters and a brother-in-law were out making a last-minute grocery run, Enjolras had gone out for a walk to clear his head of holiday commotion, and the rest of the family had retreated to bedrooms to wrap gifts. Feuilly, banished from Courfeyrac's room because Courfeyrac didn't trust his poker face and didn't want any surprises spoiled, went down to the living room to sit by the fireplace with his box of cards. He wrote messages in the ones for his coworkers quickly, and the remaining ones for ABC members--Enjolras, Bahorel, and Combeferre--more slowly. Then he took a long while writing a note to the Wilsons, telling them what he was up to now and thanking them for the difference they'd made in his life.

Finally, he licked the last envelope, closed it, and sat back, stretching out his hands. Before him sat a pile of nearly twenty letters to important people in his life, the ones who had made a difference for him. People who'd helped him turn his life around; people who'd helped him keep going when he thought he couldn't; people who'd brought meaning into his life and filled his days with happiness.

There was still one card left in the box.

Slowly, Feuilly opened the last card. He sat staring at the blank space underneath the "Happy Holidays" for a long time. Beside him, the fire cracked and hissed; from upstairs came the muffled sounds of a family reveling in frantic holiday preparations. After a long time, Feuilly uncapped his pen, and wrote:

_Dear Daniela,_

_I still think about you a lot, even though it's been years since I last saw you. For a lot of those years, I was angry--and hurt--because it was really hard for me to lose you, and I didn't understand why. But I grew up, and I understand now. And I'm not angry anymore. I know you did the best you could._

_I'm doing well now. I went to college, Daniela. Now I work in refugee resettlement, setting up housing and jobs for newcomers from Burma and Nepal and Iraq. I also volunteer with a literacy advocacy group. I have people who care about me, who I can go to when I need help. I have people to spend Christmas with. I turned out okay._

_And I know that that's, in part, thanks to you. For a long time, all I could think about was how hurt I was when you left. But that wasn't the only way you affected my life. You were the first person I can remember who really cared about me, who told me I was important and deserved to be okay. You were the first one to take care of me._

_So thank you--for everything that you were able to give me. I'm happy to have had you in my life._

_Love,_

_Feuilly_

There was no way to send the letter. Even if he found the address of the department of Children and Youth that had handled his case back when he was a little boy, the chances of them knowing where Daniela lived now were astronomically small. There might not even be anyone there who remembered her. And Feuilly didn't even know her last name.

It wasn't important, really.

Feuilly closed the card, put it in the envelope, and sealed the flap. Then he opened the door of the woodstove and set the card gently inside. It smoked for a moment, then the corners of the envelope singed and curled, the paper flaring up quickly. The bright orange flames ran over the card and envelope, eating up Feuilly's words, sending them up the chimney in smoke.

Feuilly sat by the fire for a long time after the last flame blinked out, staring at the dull gray ashes, smiling a little. Then he wiped his eyes and went to see what Enjolras and Courfeyrac were up to.

 


End file.
